


Street Art

by nightcallzayn



Category: Gemma Janes - Fandom, Julian Casablancas - Fandom, Night Changes - One Direction (Music Video), One Direction (Band), Sky Ferreira - Fandom, The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Art, Artists, Falling In Love, Gemma Janes - Freeform, Gen, Luke Grimes, Mystery, Passion, Violence, matty healy - Freeform, street art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcallzayn/pseuds/nightcallzayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he falls in love with a street artist he will learn what he's been missing in his whole life, he has been blind she will teach him how to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

****Art is not only the paintings we see in expensive museums that rich people buy to show how much money they have, those paintings that will end up being sold again because they don't understand the crazy or simple representation of feelings that are in that canvas. Art is passion, is observation, is the deep breath you take, it's the blue sky in those beautiful days I used to enjoy with my mom, the green forests, in the movement of a body, in the music that leads us to another place or moment, in the poetry, in the drop of water that falls in those rainy days, in the streets and in the full living color of her peaceful blue eyes that made me understand what I was losing.


	2. 1

The smell of expensive perfume and millionaire jewelry came to my nose as a fresh breeze compared to the heavy air of Upper West Side. The intense lights above my head of the gallery got me confuse, but in that day everything, even my expensive fragrance, put my head in a mess. The classic music that was around the rooms was bothering me even the paintings on the white walls were a totally boring subject.

I was in that Art school for two years, a school with prestige in Manhattan where I had excellent grades, attention, friends, teachers with those "sophisticated minds" that in my opinion were only a bunch of theory and nothing more, opportunities to visit some of the most important galleries where guides with their expensive looks and heels explained things that I already knew about paintings or sculptures. Then, like always we had a little banquet where we tasted champagne that half of Manhattan would never taste or smell in their lives.

This all worked amazing in theory but let's face it, a big part was just horrible, except for the champagne and the galleries. Did I like the big school? Of course, I was living the dream. Was it what I had in mind? A big, fat no.

When I got to that school I thought I would be in the middle of real artists, people with their style and imagination, creativity, workshops like I used to see in public schools... I was obviously wrong.

There were no creative people with their own style only rich girls and boys used to have everything they wanted wearing Gucci and Chanel, teachers telling us what to do and bored exhibitions. And the worst I was one of them.

I tried to get off that place many times but then I had my father that only cared about himself so basically if I gave up that school his reputation would have a fail, me. Also asked him to put me in a public school, a question I should never asked because "people like us don't mix with those rebels, they are just a part of society were where there were no good laws or order." That were his words and my opportunity to hate him.

"Zayn!" The sweet voice of Yasmin distracted me of my mental documentary. The beautiful and elegant Yasmin Cole, one of the best students of my class also immature and a spoiled child." My dad reserved table for two tonight in a new restaurant."

"Where is that?" I asked almost ignoring her. My dad thought it would look nice if I hang out with Yasmin, I mean it would be nice because my dad had some business with her dad so it was a powerful weapon if we had some dates.

"My dad said it was near Bronx and yes that place is so creepy but I heard the restaurant is great!" She explained moving with her light brown hair where she had add some blonde streaks in the day before.

Yasmin held my hand and smiled while her eyes ran by the room in seconds. She loved to be the center of all the attentions and the fact we were dating was just one more point for her spotlight.

"Do we really have to go?" I questioned ignoring all the show she was doing.

"What's happening baby?" Yasmin looked at me with those big green eyes showing some indignation. "You don't wanna be with me?"

It was pretty obvious that I didn't but I had to be nice.

"You know I love to be with you." I said calling me a big liar for that.

She laughed showing her white perfect teeth that made a contrast with the dark red in her lips. She was pretty but all of that makeup always made me had doubts about that genuine beauty.

Yasmin approached to a group of "barbies" displaying her new purse from Louis Vuitton that apparently I gave her, courtesy from my dad that bought that stupid purse and sent to her with my name on it.

The waitress walked near me with the champagne cups and in a fast movement I took one with no manners making him look at me and probably thinking I was not one of those full of classy people. The guide kept talking about one of the main paintings of the exhibition, it was a canvas with no interest for any of them. I mean it was only a big stain of black ink in the middle of a blank space, also had some spots of cold colors all over the place. A three year-old kid could do it with no difficult.

"Poetic." I whispered drinking a bit of the cold champagne.

"Excuse me Mr. Malik?" The guide looked at me from the corner of the room.

"The colors." I said fast with no idea what was about to say." I was commenting to myself that it transmits a feeling of cold or something bad, something that will infect the person that's looking at it with the cold and dark that is obviously a metaphor."

The 40 years-old woman stayed looking at me waiting for me to fail but I just smiled to her making her more nervous, so she just returned to her boring monologue about the horrible painting and I returned to my cup.

I walked near a window and looked down. The real art was there, I just wanted run to those streets and see what I could get, it would be easy... Probably not. I was not an artist I didn't know what real life was.

"Zayn." Yasmin called me again making me rolling my eyes." Let's go?"

I looked at her and nodded. Probably I would just get off the building and get in the most recent Audi. Why couldn't we try a damn bus?

The sound of my iPhone distracted me again of my desire of walking into a bus. My dad.

"Yes?"

"Zayn? Mr. Cole already told me about the dinner tonight." My dad never asked me "how are you?" he had become cold and distant after my mom's death so we barely had a relation. " I sent Julia the smoking, everything is ready so try to be gentle and not a completely idiot as always."

"I don't wanna go, dad." I grumbled.

"Nobody asked if you wanted, we need this. Now remember what I told you. See you tomorrow."

I was about to say bye but I didn't even have even a second to do it, I was used to it. I bet if I disappeared he wouldn't notice, only if I missed a date.


End file.
